About Me.

Vashti lay in a box. She was almost completely immobile. Almost. She could wriggle her toes and roll her head from side to side, and she could even swing her arms. But she couldn’t sit up. She couldn’t roll over. Vashti had the suddenly violent urge to pee.

Then the curtains opened, and he came out. Fitzgerald was flourishing a large saw dramatically, the red cape fluttering over his spare frame. Vashti noticed that the saw was menacingly sharp. She felt the beginning of nerves, like a pinprick at the base of her neck.

Fitzgerald’s voice echoed against the brick walls of the small theater: “And now for my best trick. I shall cut this woman in half.” He approached her, his green eyes glittering. “Don’t worry, love, this won’t hurt a bit.” He smiled at her reassuringly. It was a toothless smile.

He began slicing through the box, the saw making a grating sound that hurt her ears. But then the real hurt began. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was a woman’s bloodcurdling scream. Her own.